


Raising Tom

by GrrHatLet



Series: Dumbledore Drabbles [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, M/M, Time Travel, Time Turner, Wool's Orphanage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrHatLet/pseuds/GrrHatLet
Summary: In a last attempt to stop Voldemort, Albus and Gellert take drastic measures to prevent the rise of the Dark Lord.By going back to the time he was an infant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not an entirely full-fledged fic. If I had more time on my hands, it might've evolved into something big, but the beginning gives the reader a pretty clear idea of what's happening, and that's good enough.

“That should be the last of it,” Albus declared, stroking a long white beard. He turned from the entanglement of runes scrawled chaotically on a sheet of parchment. “And if all goes accordingly," he faced his waiting husband, "you and I should comfortably merge with ourselves in 1927.”

Gellert nodded in accordance. “There will be no risk our younger versions will not adapt completely?"

Albus’ gaze was soft, but honest. “There _is_  minor chance it may take a spell before our minds fully, ah… _agree_ to the conversion.”

“The time period?”

“Should not place that great a burden, as we've both lived it once before.”

The knowing eyes met his in curiosity. “And Hogwarts?”

A somber expression donned Albus’ face. “Both the castle and this era will cease to exist in their forms current.” 

Gellert gave a definitive nod and folded two arms over a stout chest.

Albus…could not say he was so resolute.

“Are you sure you wish to play a hand in this, Gellert? There-“

A wrinkled hand came up impatiently. “There is a chance the construct could be wrong; we could arrive _unchanged_ , and fail to merge with the other simpletons at all; merge but still look like a couple of old men; be lost to existence from the time-turner erupting under all the modifications; along with many other factors that have already been said!” He replied unflinchingly. “And of course, once we venture into the past…”

“…there is no coming back.” Albus finished softly, his gaze somewhere unseen.

It was not the complications that had vexed his mind alone. What they had planned…was unheard of, at the very best. Even now, despite months of exertion and strenuous preparation, he felt the knot of hesitation curling in his stomach. The thought of what they were about to do…why they had targeted that time period…was a frightful thought indeed.

Fortunately, Gellert’s off-handed comments were known to have their uses, and now Albus found himself contemplating some _other_ consequences: the weight of leaving everything behind; abandon their lives as they had known them; never to return to and perhaps never to regain the same existence at all.

A loving gaze swept the office, a feeble old chest cinching at the array of memories. Memories lovingly, unforgettably, created over the course of wonderful, illustrious years—whatever they had led up to. Ones that would soon, merely exist in the depths of a fool-hardy wizard’s heart.

Gellert rapped his bridge to regain his attention. “Albus, have you located the boy's whereabouts?”

A nod. “Tom lives in a Muggle orphanage in the midst of London. You’ll recall it was _I_ who paid visit to him, and introduced him to the Wizarding world.”

Gellert nodded again. “And it will be easier to approach him when he is young…”

“Yes. We are going to arrive in April of 1927, just four months after Tom’s birth.”

Here, Gellert arched a brow. “That is very…uncharacteristic of you, Albus.”

The taller wizard merely turned away, murmuring, “For the Greater Good.”

Gellert took on a weary smile and his eyes found the heavily-reinvented time-turner around his beloved’s neck.

“An entire fifty years back in time, Albus. Surely you are not _that_ afraid of a man with a face made of wax.”

“To admit fear is to admit sensibility, in certain predicaments.” Albus smiled. “Of course, 50 years _is_ a tremendous time to relive. Are you sure—“

“If you ask that again, you will arrive with a tongue in four different knots.”

“That reminds me,” Albus mused as he pulled the chain enough for them both to slip through, “perhaps I can avoid several nasty accidents that occurred  years past, without further interfe-“

A musical trill rose from the corner. With barely time to look, Albus watched as Fawkes took from his perch and alighted upon his shoulder.

The old wizard smiled affectionately. “No, no, my friend. Not this time, I’m afraid.”

Fawkes gave a second, longer trill.

Albus looked to Gellert, who shrugged and gave no protest.

Albus fondled the time-turner thoughtfully.

“…Oh alright. Time likely won’t pose you difficulty anyhow.”

Gellert’s hand arrested the device, and before Albus could speak, a great light immersed the room.

Once it had cleared, both wizard and phoenix were gone.

* * *

 Albus had to shield his eyes from the rising intensity—mere result of a leap of such distance—as in mere seconds it would transport he, Gellert, and Fawkes back years further than any witch or wizard (or phoenix) triumphantly accomplished. A traitorous recollection of Mintumble’s untimely end at the hands of a failed time-travel experiment surfaced to mind, but was banished immediately as Albus willed himself to remember their calculations: airtight. They would arrive in 1927. They'd merge successfully with their former selves. They'd been utmost thorough in exploring every detail and possibly this could yield. They would accomplish what was to be done, even if it meant-

Fawkes gave another shrill, and flapped his wings, feeling lighter. Startled, Albus quickly grabbed his familiar, fighting off possibilities of what might happen to any creature which left time-travel prematurely. Fawkes gave a cry and mildly jabbed his hand. Even more startled, Albus opened his eyes to see the phoenix…

And an old-fashioned office.

…Slowly releasing Fawkes—who flew to a perch by the window—Albus gazed about the room, a long smile growing along his face. Everywhere: objects to be recognized and pleasantly remembered. Silver contraptions not yet disposed out of necessity or incident; a most attractive set of deep purple drapes (their current owner certainly had taste); furnishings and gadgets considered obsolete in but a few decades; and a rather handsome desk to finalize it all.

What was _most_ regaling, alas, was a simple mirror, whose only point of interest was hanging directly across the room.

Albus stared with delightful disbelief, slowly stroking a smooth hand through a long, auburn beard. The face smiling back was devoid of wrinkles, nothing like a 150-year-old man. The enraptured wizard found not one line, spot, or speck of gray. The _only_ fault to discover was a pair of glasses with strength much too intense for the present—er, past?—owner to put to use. A wand tapped the frames and the lenses altered more compatibly.

“Albus!”

Albus started; he had almost forgot! Turning to smile at an equally-younger Gellert, he found a blonde-haired, broad-shouldered man…

Glaring from across the room.

“What has you making a racket at this hour?!”

He drew back in surprise.

“I come downstairs to fetch a vial of Dreamless Sleep, and here you are prattling away with the bird!”

Albus quickly starting making a deeper assessment of his husband. In the corner, Fawkes, too, appeared a might distressed. “Gellert…?”

“Why do you look at me so strangely?! And what happened to your glasses? Did you lose the spares again?”

Albus took in his blue-eyed, smooth-skinned husband, looking for all the world as though he _had_ recently just woken up, ambled grumpily downstairs, and found his eccentric spouse wide awake for reasons unknown. His expression was unchanged and Albus was convinced this would _not_ be a time for Gellert to jostle his bones.

Seemed his mind had not been as…accommodating to the change as his own. Not entirely surprising, all things considered, it was in his nature—however, this posed _grave_ difficulties.

“Gellert,” Albus ventured carefully, “do you remember why we’re here?”

The affronted gaze remained…then, slowly, a glazed look overcame the youthful visage. Gellert stood motionless for a moment or so…then, slowly, blinked at the wizard in front of him. “Albus?”

Albus smiled in relief. “Yes, love. Do you feel yourself?”

“Yes…no…I…” He looked up at the man in equal parts confusion and annoyance.

Albus threw him a somewhat fretful gaze.

But Gellert immediately tore away and groped his furrowed brow. "Go."

Albus took a step closer.

This only caused Gellert to shoo him away, the other hand pinching his bridge. "Go on, there is work to be done."

Albus couldn't help standing for just a few more moments, despite duty pulling on his waiting sleeve. Gellert grumbled, growled, and snarled to himself, shifting a blue-eyed gaze between the floor and the wall. If an inner conflict were brought to light…

Albus sorrowfully dragged himself to the door, stopping to promise: "I won't be long."

Gellert nodded and lowered his hand to bore holes into the wall. Jaw tight.

Albus threw a glance at Fawkes—who trilled in agreement—before reluctantly stepping through the only other door leaving the office. The priority of course was taking care of Tom. …Once that had been accomplished, Gellert’s predicament (provided it was still taking shape) could be addressed.

He merely hoped the 44-year-old Gellert wasn’t enough to overpower the 148-year-old Gellert as he finally made it outside.

* * *

   
The building was as dreary and sterile as remembered. As Albus knocked on the gargantuan doors, he found it wasn’t only _pleasant_ memories coming to greet him. His damningly-observant mind merely had to take a glimpse of the past to quickly associate it with things that had been deservedly buried deep beyond salvage.

Even the playground looked as gray and welcoming as the average hag’s lair. Heartbreaking to know this had been the only life Tom had ever had. …But soon, Albus chuckled rather humorlessly, he wouldn’t need to worry about th-

A hinge squealed.

Albus looked sharp to see not a young lady, but a curious little lad peering with faint suspicion. “Who’re you?”

He smiled kindly. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I would like to have a word with Mrs. Cole. Is she available?”

The boy stepped away and hurried back inside. Within moments, a young but obviously exhausted woman came to greet him. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Within moments, Albus was walking through an aisle of cribs so primitive they made the heart hurt. The nursery had all the necessities: nappies, clothes, bottles…but it lacked the warmth that came with bringing a new child into the world. It wasn’t unusual to spot a bed with more than one occupant, and he had to steer his gaze at the back of Mrs. Cole’s head to deter from becoming more disheartened, and doing something sentimental but unwise.

“How did you know Tom’s mother?” She asked as they passed a crib with peeling paint.

“It was her father I was better acquainted with, actually.” He explained. “The man could hardly provide care for Merope and when I heard she had a child…”

“So why doesn’t he come collect the boy, then?”

“He couldn’t afford the trip, unfortunately. Here,” he drew a piece of paper from his cloak, “this should clear the matter.”

Mrs. Cole barely had to grasp the parchment before giving an astute nod. “Right, seems perfectly in order.” They passed two more beds and came to a halt. “Well, here he is.”

Albus peered down into the bare-boned little crib and spotted a pink face above the threadbare blanket. The fine hair was jet black, and tiny fists bunched aside two puckered little ears. So small, so defenseless…

Mrs. Cole took him from the crib, and the babe opened a pair of wide brown eyes. Albus marveled at the infant calmly held out to him.

Could it really be so simple?

* * *

 

By the time Albus finally returned, weary and pondering the consequences of what had been done, Gellert was thankfully no longer standing to burn daggers into the wall.

He was sitting.

Albus sighed and closed the door behind him, garnering the other's attention.

“Where’ve you been? It’s almost noon and neither I nor the bird had any inkling to where you’d gone.”

 _I’d feared as much…_ Albus thought wearily. Mustering the dregs of courage, he looked him clear in the eye.

“Gellert,” a clearing throat, “there’s something you ought to know. Something which inadvertently required your involvement.”

Gellert arched a brow, looking upon him warily.

…Albus swallowed. “We came here to commit a feat so unlawful perhaps in a different age we ourselves would’ve deemed it unworthy to even consider. …Love, please tell me—what happened on the eve of my 64th birthday?”

Gellert’s brows scaled his forehead. “Are you well? This is strange behavior even for you.” He glanced at the door behind. “Perhaps there is something in the Infirmary to be of help.”

Albus closed his eyes heavily. Well, the world might’ve been safer for it, but Voldemort had _reaped_  one unforeseen revenge: he no longer had his husband (at least, not the one he left with) _…_

A terrible weight clawed at his chest, but there was nothing to be done: Albus had to remind himself this was a known likelihood—no matter _how_ much it stung. 

There was no choice: Albus heavily accepted the bitter pill, and looked upon the still-wary man with soft eyes.

“Geller-" he broke off unexpectedly, raised a hand to assure the man in front of him to remain calm, and tamed his "coughing fit" down enough to deliver the news: "there is something I must tell you.”

The other waited.

“Please understand, no matter what you hear, it is all true.”

“Albus, you are worrying me.” Gellert spoke, said worry obvious in his face. “Is it you have relinquished your position as Transfiguration professor?”

“No.”

“Got into trouble with some dark wizards?”

“…No.”

“Been bitten by a werewolf?”

“No.”

“Vampire?”

“No. G-“

“Does it involve Aberforth?”

“Gel-“

“Because if he is being unreasonable—“

“ _Please!”_ The man urged, and his husband grew immediately still. Giving a minute sigh, he salvaged a damnable smile to cross his face ( _For the Greater Good)._

“Gellert…” He reached behind and revealed a small bundle of some sort—a _moving_ bundle of some sort—wrapped carefully in a deep purple cloak. Gellert stared at the thing in fascination, conjecturing what Albus could have retrieved on the trip back from London. Surely he didn’t stop for candy on his way home? He seemed very determined in what he had set out to do, and no candy that Gellert knew in Muggle shops could possess the ability of movement.

Albus pulled back the fabric to unveil a pudgy face with tussled black hair and closed eyes. The creature opened them, and they were found to be a light shade of brown.

“Gellert,” Albus smiled gently, “meet your son.”

The boy blinked once, and sized-up the room, taking it in with surprising observation.

Gellert stared at the child.

Albus held his breath.

His husband’s face was blank, moving slowly from Tom, to the wall. He could only speculate what he was thinking, whilst steadying Tom so any noises on his part would not wring a premature reaction. Gellert's gaze kept moving from Tom, to the wall. Tom, to the wall. Tom. The Wall. Tom…

“… _Merlins Bart,"_  he sank down in the chair,"the witch from Lille!” He buried his face in his hands.

Albus gaped.

Tom said nothing, as infants tend to do.

“Gellert-!”

“Albus!” Trapped eyes beseeched him. “You must know it is futile I be personally involved in the child’s life!”

Albus rolled his own. “That would be quite the conundrum…”

“I have no fatherly capacity!”

“Gellert-“

“The means to pay for child maintenance would be no difficulty.”

“Gellert _-“_

“And she may send him to whatever school she likes.”

“ _G_ -“

“But the lack of time to—“

“GELLERT!”

The room was silenced: Gellert seized up, taken aback by his outburst. Tom also blinked in surprise at the red-haired man holding him.

Albus stooped low, looking for _any_ signs of recognition—but to his great distress, there appeared to be none. Albus felt his heart twist: his dear beloved would have had plenty of time to familiarize, acquaint himself with the days of old, and yet… Perhaps his former self really was more stubborn than either had thought he’d be.

He tampered his worry down to diagnose the issue at a better time (yes, that seemed a feasible excuse) and bent calmly to eye-level.

“Tom is no lovechild between you and an anonymous witch. He is a former resident of Wool’s Orphanage, and was recently freed from this Muggle institution by his new, overjoyed father.” Albus delivered (somewhat uneasily).

Gellert stared at the child again.

Tom went back to blinking lazily.

The other's gaze meandered back to the wall.

Then…

“Take him back.”

Albus gaped (once again). “I beg your-?!”

“Take. Him. _Back_.”

Albus marveled in slight disdain. “You can’t possibly-“

Gellert surged from the chair, provoking Albus to hold Tom tight. “You said we would be returning to put an _end_ to Voldemort!”

Albus' jaw fell slack.

Tom went back to surveying the room, apparently unfazed by loud voices.

With enough time to realize his husband's recovery (but none to relish), Albus shook himself sane. “And we _can_ , Gellert! Don’t you see?! If Tom is raised with love and affection, Voldemort will never exist!”

Gellert stared open-mouthed. “Do you hear what you are saying?! I’m beginning to think the leap has done noteworthy damage to your head!”

Biting back a kettle-meet-pot retort, Albus continued: “The convictions stand! Even you cannot deny that evil is preventable, and that includes corrective rearing of vulnerable children!”

Gellert utterly gaped. A plethora of shock, anger, disappointment, and exhaustion all meshing beneath his gaze. “Albus, the boy was a monster by the time he was eleven…”

“With time and dedication, Tom can become a far cry from what he was.”

“Your championing of love has had its moments, but a simple kindness will not—“

“Fatherhood is far from simple, Gellert.”

Now the man was becoming frustrated. “Who’s to say the boy will not simply return with a deeper knowledge of the man trying to stop him?”

“Regardless of allegiances, there is no doubt Tom will grow to be great and powerful. Someone has to offer proper guidance.”

“And you deem us the ones to give it to him?”

Albus inhaled deeply. “The agreement was to give the child a caring home. I intend to uphold it.”

Gellert glared.

Albus glowered.

Tom gurgled.

…Gellert broke away to storm into the nearest room, the door slamming loudly. Albus glowered after him. No speck of pity to be found now.

Alas…he could not fault the man _too_ harshly for reacting so severely (had his memory regained of its own, attained by a battle of wills, or been prodded by the sort of shock that came with adopting someone previously holding the identity of a dark wizard? It would have to be sorted out later). He had taken unexpected bombshells from Gellert many a time, but on the occasions  _he_ was the canon that dealt the blow, the aftermath was far greater to recover from.

He was unsure how he would have reacted if enduring momentary lapse (and nearly shuddered: he didn’t want to think about what Gellert would have done had _he_  visited the orphanage).

Albus glanced down at the infant in his arms, checking over the child’s state. The boy seemed healthy, if a little worn. Clearly showing signs of a life lived with too few arms to hug and hold. Tom gummed on his knuckles with an uncommitted look on his face. Albus Dumbledore smiled and readjusted the dark-haired child in his arms.

“He’ll grow on you.” His beaming father promised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few days after the oneshot went up, the ideas just kept bouncing around. At first I thought: “…Really, this is gonna flesh out into a full-on fic?” But, as mentioned in the first chapter, time isn’t definite…so every update will be able to stand on its own.

 Albus sat quietly while Armando fidgeted behind his desk, smothering a chuckle at the irony of it all. Not one day ago, this office had belonged to him, and the differences were…quite dreadful, in his newly-humbled opinion.

It was far too drab, too dull for a Headmaster who wished to be taken seriously. Why even the portraits looked a might sleepier. And the drooping spider plant—the _only_ embellishment of this stuffy room—would hardly mollify the leery student as a gaggle of adults bungled over their incessant formalities. Shame the influence professionalism had ov-

“Well I simply don’t know what to say!” Dippet wailed.

Albus collected himself, and smiled. “Surprise? It is not uncommon for couples to unveil the arrival of a child, Armando.”

“ _Expecting_ couples, Albus!” He cried over a mangled stack of forms slipping embarrassingly through his grasp. One moment his hands were grappling for order, and in one hiss a thumb was jerked into his mouth (Albus cast a minor Healing Charm, though it proved quite futile against the present Headmaster’s temperament).

“Well as you’re aware, Gellert and I can hardly have one the traditional way.”

“You’ve never mentioned want for a child before and now here you are, waltzing in calm as day, expecting Hogwarts to take it on a _dime_!” Dippet waited for some kind of explanation.

Albus said nothing.

He whimpered and went back to mumbling helplessly over his paperwork.

Whilst Albus waited patiently, his eyes found the portrait of the _previous_ headmaster, and he swallowed another chuckle: Quite serendipitous of Tom to be born in 1926—had it been one year earlier, he would be answering to Phineas.

And then another slip of information came to mind.

Armando Dippet had parted this world in 1992. Harry’s second year.

…He _had_ been rather uncoordinated and feeble, being nearly 355 years old, and it wasn't unheard of for wizards to meet their end at a much younger age. But rumor had it after learning the Chamber of Secrets-

Albus banished the thought immediately.

Finally, the very-much-alive Armando Dippet drooped in defeat. “Will you be needing a leave of absence?”

Albus heeded the offer. “…No, I don’t think so. Though it may be wise to have a stand-in on call. One never knows.” His eyes twinkled.

Dippet did not catch his enthusiasm.

Rising to leave, Albus was again reminded of the damage his peculiar type of bombshells could inflict. Hopefully it would be the last involving _Tom._

As he departed, Armando's voice called, “I’ll have it looked into right after Merrythought is seen to; with her need for new textbooks, our budget is leaning toward Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Albus felt the icy prick of speculation nibble the back of his mind.

Bearing it no thought, he rushed to get back to the nursery.

* * *

 

To say what he found “shocking” upon return, was contemptible to say the least.

Tom was alone in the crib, crying and floundering his blankets off.

Gellert was nowhere to be found.

Barreling toward the boy, he reached out two loving arms, hoping against hope nothing which had been perpetrated would be irreversible. As he bounced, shushed, and murmured endearments, a squealing hinge caught his ear, and he snapped left to spy Gellert emerging from their bedchambers.

"Gellert!" 

The other wizard looked up in surprise.

"How long has Tom been like this?!" Albus half-wanted to hex him, half-wanted to drag a hand down his exasperated face (alas both were full of helpless infant). “How long has Tom been left to cry?!”

Here Gellert grew some understanding, and looked upon them calmly. “A moment before you returned. Not long.”

Albus felt a wave of relief, but looked at him in earnest. “Physical contact is _essential_ for the developing months, Gellert. Tom must be nurtured when he feels vulnerable, else-“

“Else those parts of his mind will never develop.” Gellert waved in dismissal. “I know how the brain works.”

Albus held down a groan of debility: they had barely scratched their return, and things had gotten to a rather…extemporized start. Truly, he did not believe things would rocket off so easily—Dippet's reaction was enough premonition of hurdles to come—but the success of their initial plan involved a mutual cooperation.

…That is, on _his_ behalf.

After the…revelations of night past, neither man particularly recovered from his irritation and shock. Albus was especially mortified at Gellert’s expectations; had he really believed they would commit such a deed? In what way did that separate them from Voldemort? Infanticide was one of _His_ finer points, and they would neither defeat nor imitate him by-

Or had Gellert simply planned to take it upon himself?

For the third time that day, Albus silenced his thoughts.

Something must’ve shown in his eyes, for Gellert honed all undivided attention upon him. “Albus?”

Albus Summoned a quill and parchment, and it began jotting down a list of all infantile necessities.

Gellert gave a heavy sigh. “So, what did Dippet have to blather? Are you off duty? Will they have a meeting about him? Has he required the both of us to return?”

“Armando wishes to congratulate us on a healthy baby boy,” Albus gazed unwaveringly at the floating objects, “and _another_ matter was brought to my attention during the exchange.”

Gellert had only another exhausted sigh to give—now really, did he not see which of them held a newly-woken child?—but Albus persisted.

“The Chamber of Secrets has yet been opened.”

Two brows scaled an anxious forehead.

“Yes,” Albus patted Tom’s back, he had quieted reasonably, but still gave occasional noises of distress. Perhaps he was hungry. “It appears we have been given our first opportunity to save a life.”

“The girl? She will not be attending Hogwarts for at least 10 more years.”

“Giving us all the more time to, ah… _deal_ with the creature beforehand. It has not yet played a part in anyone’s death—of which we know—nonetheless, a creature with its  _M.O.M._ classification should hardly have free reign about the school, hm?”

“What do you propose?”

Tom gave a soft cry, rendering both momentarily distracted.

“Good morning, my boy.” Albus smiled warmly. “My, aren’t we eager to start the day?”

Tom made noncommittal baby noises and gummed his fist. His brown-eyed gaze roamed the quarters with uncharacteristic attentiveness.

Gellert gazed mutely upon their “son.”

“How do we know he is not… _touched_ already?”

Albus looked up.

“If he needs affection as you claim, how shall we know its effect? It will be quite a bit of time before he starts to show signs one way or the other, and there are…means to discriminate a psychopath’s brain from one that is sound.”

Albus frowned. “What do you propose we do if he is too far gone? Carry out your intentions from before?”

Albus-“

“I’m not certain it would be bearable to live an existence where it had part in the death of an infant. Nor to share one with a man who would.” Albus finished coldly.

Gellert saw this path’s end and palmed his brow with a heavy breath.

Albus relinquished the foreboding look and glanced at Tom, now looking up at him. He smiled at the round little cheeks, the big brown eyes, the tiny fists in his cloak. In one move, the parchment rolled up and dove into his pocket. The  _quill_ was Transfigured into a bright yellow ball.

Just as he expected, Tom's attention quickly grabbed hold of the floating plaything, and his father gladly reached out to retrieve it.

Tom opened two little arms, and the ball quickly sailed over to them.

 Albus was impressed (he thought to glance at Gellert for additional approval, but disregarded it at the last minute). In typical gesture of parental affection, he reached out and tickled underneath Tom's chin.

Tom immediately strained back as two little fists waved in the air.

Albus lowered his hand. “Perhaps…comfort in physical consolation will come with time.”

Gellert did not share his optimism.

* * *

 Upon his announcement to procure Tom additional belongings, Gellert handed him a satchel with with weight and quantity enchantments, and sent him off. Reinvigorated by this…Gellert-like display of cooperation, he happily strolled to Diagon Alley. Now with half a nursery bumping against his hip, he wondered which behaviors Tom would display first: Imitation? Object Permanence? Gross motor development? Ah, the boundless potential of youth…

“Gellert, what do you think Tom’s-“

Albus stopped short, the shopping bag nearly falling out of his hands.

Gellert sat on one end of the room, looking rather thunderous, as though capable of causing harm but holding back from doing so under unusual circumstances.

Tom slumbered in his crib, Fawkes perched vigilantly at the foot in a flamboyant parody of a Keasel on a child’s bed.

 _Abe_ took up the other end.

Albus’ heart dropped into his stomach.

He awkwardly walked into the room, wherein his brother and husband had been glaring at each other with enough heat to melt flagstones. No doubt some kind of dispute had taken part in his absence, and even for Aberforth and Gellert, it was far greater than their habitual conflict…

Aberforth looked up at him, and a mix of confusion, irritation, and—oh, Albus looked at the floor guiltily—hurt etched across his face.

He cast a thumb back at Gellert. “You left  _him_  alone with a baby?”

Gellert glared at him, and growled something in his native language about Aberforth’s trustworthiness around goats, but Albus was too overwhelmed to even comprehend if asked. He sat down, awkwardly, in the remaining chair nearest the boy and the only left between his irascible husband and baffled brother. He sent Tom's belongings to his room, 

“Gellert, would you give Aberforth and I a moment—please?”

Gellert huffed as he got up from the chair, no need for telling twice. Tom stirred in his crib, and Albus watched the movement catch Abe’s eye. The very presence of the boy seemed to startle and confound him, and Albus also noted gears turning in his brother’s lesser-recognized head.

Gellert unlikely revealed too much, enraging Aberforth when he began asking questions about (thus enraging Gellert in turn when he was unable to resort to force). And what _could_ be pieced together was another matter entirely; Aberforth knowing him better than other witches and wizards. Albus had considered his brother’s reaction as a natural given—but his presence and _involvement_ … Perhaps he deserved that cantankerous look.

He took in this man with the exact shade of auburn hair, the same twinkling blue eyes. Aberforth, like himself, had untold years ahead of him—possibly even more so. His presence could not only become commonplace, but expected. A small part of him was frightened, unsure of where to head off next. The rest was so very, very happy to see him.

“I…apologize that we did not reach you sooner.”

Silence reigned for a moment. Fawkes dove his beak into his feathers. Fire spat into the thickening air.

Aberforth grunted as he stood. “So, what’s the kid’s name?”

Albus smiled. “Tom.”


End file.
